


Sinner Come New

by calloftheocean, musegnome



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Art, Explicit Sexual Content, Fanart, Fluff and Smut, M/M, NSFW Art, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Tail Sex, Tails
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:41:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27812440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calloftheocean/pseuds/calloftheocean, https://archiveofourown.org/users/musegnome/pseuds/musegnome
Summary: “I have a tail, you know,” Crowley said out of nowhere.On the surface it was a casual statement, but he had gone very still.“Yes,” Aziraphale replied. “A lovely one at that. It’s a bit hard to miss it when you’re a snake, dear.”“Not that tail.” Crowley began to fidget with his glass. “A different one.”(A Good Omens collaboration featuring art by calloftheocean and fic by musegnome)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 58
Kudos: 276





	Sinner Come New

**Author's Note:**

> This work contains explicit NSFW art! Please enjoy, but be aware before you scroll down!

“I have a tail, you know,” Crowley said out of nowhere.

On the surface it was a casual statement, but he had gone very still.

They were curled together on Crowley’s white leather sofa: Crowley in black jeans and bare feet, Aziraphale in his shirtsleeves, toes warm in tartan socks. They were drinking port. Aziraphale took a sip and rolled it against his tongue.

“Yes,” he replied, cautiously agreeable, brandied wine sweet in his mouth and demon-skin smooth beneath his fingertips where he’d slipped his hand under Crowley’s shirt. “A lovely one at that. It’s a bit hard to miss it when you’re a snake, dear.”

“Not _that_ tail.” Crowley began to fidget with his glass. “A different one.”

He was slouched with his back against Aziraphale’s side, and Aziraphale felt him tensing, starting to squirm. He pressed an encouraging kiss to the top of Crowley’s head. “What kind of tail?”

“Um. Still a snaky sort of tail, I guess. Comes with the rest of it.”

Aziraphale sipped his port and waited.

“It’s another kind of look, yeah? Some of us had it. Bunch of us, actually, but we didn’t put it on very much. Just sometimes, when the new sinners came in and Hell wanted us to add a little atmosphere.” The words spilled out in a rush as Crowley turned his glass around and around in his hands, sloshing ruby liquid up the sides. “Still don’t put it on. Hardly ever. But if we’re – if we’re doing _this_ now, I thought I ought to mention it.”

 _This._ Crowley could have meant any number of things with the word: the emotional relationship, the physical, even just the fresh, simple act of honest communication – but specifics didn’t matter in the moment. Aziraphale set down his drink and gathered Crowley into his lap.

“Dearest. We might be together now, but your body’s your own. Never feel like you _ought to_ share any part of it with me that you don’t want to.”

“Alright! Alright, fine. Maybe I _wanted_ to mention it.” Crowley relaxed into him, but his long fingers still tapped restlessly against his glass. “Maybe I wanted to tell you.”

Aziraphale stroked his red hair, long enough now to fall past his shoulders. Face turned away, Crowley said softly, almost whispering, “Maybe I want to show you.”

They’d not been lovers long by immortal measures of time; still caught up in the newness of it, Aziraphale was finely attuned to Crowley’s desire. He sensed it now. Almost tasted it, threaded smoky through the uncertain words, and his own lust flared up in him like a struck match.

He bent his head and murmured against Crowley’s throat:

“Let me see.”

For the space of a heartbeat, there was no response. And then Crowley’s hands began to change.

Colour spread through his hands and up his arms. Red-black. _Blood-_ black. It was darkest at his fingers, which sharpened into points tipped with needle claws; they rang against the cut crystal of the port glass as Crowley tapped.

_Ting. Ting._

Aziraphale took the glass from him and set it on the table next to his own.

Crowley turned in Aziraphale’s arms, and he saw that everything about his demon had gone sharp: his cheekbones, his chin, the ridges of his brows. The tips of his ears, peeking through the tumble of red curls. The white teeth showing when he smiled.

The teeth were sharp too against Aziraphale’s mouth when Crowley kissed him.

They were both breathing heavily when Crowley pushed himself off the sofa and walked away toward the bedroom. He didn’t look back. Mesmerised, Aziraphale followed. There was no tail, he noted, watching Crowley’s arse flex beneath the tight black jeans.

When they crossed the threshold, Crowley silently stripped. He tossed his black henley in a corner. He slithered out of the jeans.

Aziraphale followed suit, fumbling at his belt, clumsy with haste. His trousers pooled around his ankles. As he bent to work his pants over his hips, a single claw ran along the line of his jaw. He looked up into hot yellow eyes. Swallowed, hard.

Sharp fingers carefully opened his shirt, claws catching just a bit in the buttonholes.

And then the two of them were pressed together, skin to skin, mouth to mouth, and Aziraphale gasped as his erection rubbed against Crowley’s own.

His hands played up and down the demon’s back. He ran them lower, down along the ridge of vertebrae to the base of Crowley’s spine, brushing just at the top of the crack of his arse. Then he felt it.

There it was.

The tail burst forth under Aziraphale’s hand, and Crowley shuddered as it ran rough between his fingers.

Aziraphale couldn’t see it, not yet, but it wrapped strong and supple around his leg. It curled through the downy hair on his thigh. His hips twitched as the tip worked its way beneath the sock garter still stretched snug around his calf.

“Now,” Crowley breathed into his ear. “See me now.”

The tail unwound, and he stepped away.

He was beautiful, he always was, and Aziraphale drank in this new shape of him: Crowley, naked, with dark, sharp hands and feet, tail lashing sinuously. It _was_ snake-like, just as he’d said - like snake-Crowley himself, black with red scales rippling up the underside. His cock was unchanged, long and slim and stiff.

Aziraphale trembled before him like a sinner come new to Hell. He looked at his lover, at the points and the edges and the long, lithe lines of him, and between his own legs his cock was impossibly hard.

One step, two, and then he was at Crowley’s bed; he was _in_ Crowley’s bed. The sheets were smooth against his bare arse as he wriggled backward toward the center.

Palm slick with a well-practised miracle, he began to stroke himself. He was well aware of the picture _he_ presented in his turn: crisp blue shirt unbuttoned and crumpled, tartan socks held tight in their garters, soft manicured hand wrapped around his prick. He let his head tip back. Groaned with the pleasure of it.

But Crowley was suddenly there, long legs straddling him, knees pressing into Aziraphale’s sides. And the moment he felt Crowley’s warm weight, Aziraphale wanted to be inside him.

“May I?” he panted. He ran hands up Crowley’s thighs, the hair rough under his slippery palms.

In answer Crowley splayed his legs and arched his back. “ _Yessss._ ”

Aziraphale plunged a finger into him. He gripped Crowley’s cock with his other hand. He’d never get enough of this: his lovely demon, on his knees above him, moaning as Aziraphale worked his cock, worked his arse open. And that tail, that glorious tail. It whipped between Aziraphale’s knees. Curled around an ankle.

Two fingers in and Crowley fell to his hands. “Enough, angel.” And Aziraphale knew what he wanted, knew what was coming, and grasped his own cock to guide it home as Crowley sank down. Full. Flush. Hot and perfect, seated firmly on him, with his arse snugged into Aziraphale’s groin.

And then.

Then.

Crowley grasped his tail and slid a hand up and down the tip, miracled liquid dripping oily between his fingers. His yellow eyes never left Aziraphale’s. Urgency was there in his pointed face, but hesitation too.

When Aziraphale realised what his lover wanted, lust spiked through him, hotter, straight to his cock where it was already buried deep. “Oh, Crowley. Yes,” he breathed.

Sharp white teeth flashed with Crowley’s grin.

The tail-tip was gentle at first when it brushed against his rim. Crowley pushed it into him slowly, almost delicately. Exploring. Opening him up, slipping in and out of him, a little deeper every time. All of Aziraphale’s awareness was concentrated on the sensation, and vaguely he heard himself whimpering, felt his legs spread shamelessly wider to take in more.

The last push was a _thrust_ , hard. Aziraphale arched and bucked up into Crowley with a shout, but a strong hand on his chest pushed him back down. Claws pricked at the base of his throat.

A faint liquid trickle – blood, just a bit, perhaps a drop – trailed down Aziraphale’s neck.

Together they were still for a moment.

Then Crowley began to move.

It was so much. It was _so_ much: Crowley’s arse sliding warm and wet around his cock. His tail, faintly pebbled, fucking into him. Needle-claws digging into his throat, his chest. Sweat dripping and breath panting hot as the demon rode him.

Lost in the rhythm and drive of it, Aziraphale was caught completely by surprise when his orgasm burst from him. He thrust into Crowley as he came, crying out his lover’s name.

And Crowley tipped over the edge just after, gasping, shuddering as he spilled over Aziraphale’s belly in hot spurts.

Crowley collapsed atop him with a sigh like a sob, shivering with the aftershocks. Aziraphale ran fingers through his hair. He could hardly move, drifting in bliss, but with his free hand he soothed Crowley with caresses along his sides, his shoulders and spine.

Caught up in lazy, post-orgasmic euphoria, they lost track of time. It felt like hours later when Crowley finally peeled away. Aziraphale’s softening cock slid from Crowley’s body, and the tail slipped out, leaving him empty. He couldn’t help the sound he made at the loss.

He was damp with sweat, and sticky everywhere - his stomach, and his cock, and especially between his legs. He was more than satisfied to be marked so with Crowley’s use. But familiar hands moved over him gently, and where Crowley touched him with just the slightest of miracles he was smooth and clean.

Aziraphale allowed it, but when Crowley made a soft sound of dismay at the needle-fine scratches at his neck, Aziraphale captured his hand and kissed the palm reassuringly.

“Leave them,” he murmured. Crowley obeyed. His fingers were lovely in this shape too, with their rounded pads and black-painted nails.

Crowley helped him strip off the last of his clothing and pulled the covers around them both. His edges were soft again – as soft as they could be on that fine-boned body – and the tail was gone.

Aziraphale tried not to mourn it. Instead, he ran his fingers over the dimples in Crowley’s lower back. Crowley twitched and buried his face in Aziraphale’s shoulder.

Aziraphale petted him, long calming strokes, up and down his back. The demon sighed in contentment, and Aziraphale thought it might be safe to broach the subject.

“So,” he said. “You have a tail.”

A wordless noise; a nod.

“It’s exquisite, love. I’m so glad you showed me.”

Golden eyes peeked up at him. “Like I said. Never take it out much.”

“Well, I very much hope you’ll take it out more in future.” He smiled with relish. “And put it in, too.”

“Angel!” Crowley propped himself on an elbow, shocked and delighted and still a little shy, laughing down at him from behind a curtain of tangled red curls. And Aziraphale reached for him, laughing too, laughing into his mouth as he kissed him, slow and sweet.

“So it was alright?” Crowley asked a little later, snuggled against him.

Aziraphale stretched languidly. “More than, darling. It was _perfect._ You were stunning.”

“Nothing you’d change, then?”

“Nothing at all. Besides,” he teased, “I rather think you’re happy being the one doing the changing.”

And Aziraphale thought Crowley _was_ happy, was the thing of it. He hoped so, at least, because he couldn’t imagine being happier himself, warm and sore and sated in his demon’s bed, snuggled close together and so very much in love.

“And, Crowley,” he added quietly, “no matter what you change into… it will always be perfect. You will always be stunning.”

He looked away, bashful himself with the intensity of it, but Crowley’s fingers laced together with his and squeezed tight.

It was a few seconds before he could trust himself to speak.

When words came back to him, he hummed thoughtfully. “You know, my dear, there _is_ something I believe we forgot.”

“What’s that, angel?”

“The port. It’s really too bad we left it all the way in the living room, isn’t it? We’re already so cosy here in bed.” He turned back to Crowley, eyes wide and imploring.

Crowley snorted, but he snapped his fingers too. The little crystal glasses chimed when they appeared on the side table with the bottle.

Aziraphale wiggled upright against the headboard as Crowley poured their drinks. Their fingers brushed as Crowley handed him the glass.

He watched the long lines of Crowley’s throat as he swallowed. He kissed the dark wine from his lips. And he spared a fleeting moment of pity for those poor damned sinners Crowley had greeted in Hell, who had seen him and feared him and passed him quickly by on their way further down into torment.

Aziraphale was, himself, anticipating an eternity of looking his fill.

**Author's Note:**

> My little fic and Call's gorgeous art came out of a feral Discord conversation. We've had a blast with it! We hope you like it too.


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